Sunday AfternoonI took a Sunday stroll on a beautiful, sunny afternoon. I walked through the park, observing the young skateboarders. Across from the skateboarders, I observed the old homeless men sitting on benches, watching me as I watched them.
As I crossed the street, I noticed a young couple also crossing, holding hands, as if they had done that a thousand times. I have not done that once with my lover. Not on a Sunday afternoon. My heart ached at the image of them, so casual and nonchalant in their affection for each other.
I stood on the street's corner after crossing, watching another young couple at the bus stop. She was very short, and he was very tall, and they were very in love. They talked, and turned, looking for the bus, and he'd pull her into his arms, and they would kiss, as if nobody was around, or watching. It was just the two of them in their intimate world...except for me, watching.
I could tell they had been together for a long time, in the relaxed way they kissed, and touched each other. It wasn't new to them, but that did not take away the excitement of being together. They laughed together, and hugged each other; her face leaning far up to look at him, and his head leaning down towards hers, noses rubbing. The bus came and took them away.
A mother and daughter appeared, and crossed the street, into the park I had just visited earlier. The daughter was an adorable blonde girl of 6 or 7 years old; the mother seemed to be in her thirties, beautiful and fit. I wondered if she was a single mom, or was her husband at home, working? Was he out with his friends, at a pub, drinking; on the couch, watching the football game? With his mistress; or just not there at all?
They crossed the street, holding hands, and when they got to the other side, her young daughter wrapped an arm around her mother's waist, with the pure affection only a child can give. Affection given freely, excused from judgment, and unbridled in its ex
I felt the tears gathering in my eyes, for I was deeply touched by the love I witnessed on this day. I was overwhelmed by how poignant these simple glimpses and snapshots of other people's lives were to me. I realized then, nothing is random- we are all connected through the beating of our hearts.
Most likely, the people I watched won't remember the nuances of that day, but I surely will, as the observer who felt privileged and humbled to watch the simple marvels of a Sunday afternoon.
Life is so full of beauty; it does a person good to stop and look around.